


The Devil's Own

by Dearly_Divided



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, BAMF Molly, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Past Relationship(s), minor Sherlock/Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearly_Divided/pseuds/Dearly_Divided
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty has been caught at last, but six lives still hang in the balance. He'll help Sherlock and Scotland Yard save them on one condition; he will only talk to Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Own

He sat looking pristine as ever in the interrogation room, drumming his fingers against the plastic table top like he didn't have a care in the world.

James Moriarty caught at last.

Inspector Lestrade had had him locked up in the room for just over three hours now. While Sherlock had argued (quite loudly and rudely, mind you) that Lestrade should interview him straight away, he'd decided against it. He wanted the bastard to sweat.

It did not appear to be working.

He'd done everything he could think of, turning the heat up, and then when that didn't work turning the heat down. He should have been shivering, or sweating or, or something! But he just sat there, drumming his fingers, staring straight into Lestrade's eyes through the two way mirror with a blank smile. It was unnerving to say the least.

Finally, he gave up. It was time.

With a deep breath to steel himself, Lestrade strode into the interrogation room.

Instantly, Moriarty's eyes flashed towards him, and the grin on his face widened. That wasn't quite the reaction Lestrade was hoping for, but from what he'd heard about the man, it wasn't entirely unexpected either.

"I was wondering when you'd gain the nerve to come in here," he said softly.

Lestrade glared at him. "You tried to have the Spanish delegation killed," he said.

"Yes, yes I did," Moriarty replied, studying the inspector. "And it's still going to happen."

Lestrade blinked at him, and then, keeping his face schooled into a mask of detachment, took the seat opposite the psychopath.

"How?" he barked.

Moriarty sighed, breaking his stare with the inspector to look down at his handcuffed hands, "I could tell you, really I could… but where's the fun in that?"

Lestrade shook his head, "Look, I don't think you quite understand the position you're in. If you don't tell us how to stop the attacks then you will go to prison for the rest of your goddamned life."

Moriarty shrugged. "Been there, done that. It was all a little dull to be perfectly honest."

Lestrade stared curiously at him for a moment, and then finally it came to him. Jim Moriarty wanted something.

"This isn't a negotiation Moriarty. Either you help us or-"

"Or what?" Moriarty asked, cutting the detective off mid sentence, "Or you'll lock me up?" He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Boring."

"Six people will die, and you will never see the light of day again, are you really okay with that?!" Lestrade spat.

Moriarty chuckled a little at that. "Of course I'm okay with it, I planned it after all. Makes no difference to me if they live or die, except that I do get paid when they die." He paused, all traces of amusement leaving his face, "I suppose the better question, Inspector Lestrade, is whether you're okay with the prospect of letting six innocent people die when you had a chance to save them?"

"Don't you dare-"

"Six innocent, well, mostly innocent I suppose, lives down the drain… not to mention the political ramifications of such an act," Moriarty continued as if the inspector hadn't spoken. He frowned mockingly at the detective, "It won't be pretty."

"What. Do. You. Want?" Lestrade ground out through gritted teeth.

A slow, poisonous smile crept over Jim Moriarty's face, "Bring me Molly Hooper and we'll talk."

Whatever Lestrade was expecting Moriarty to say that was not it. His eyes widened and he felt his heart skip a beat, "M-Molly Hooper? Our, I mean the pathologist? Why on Earth do you want her?"

Mentally he berated himself for sounding so utterly pathetic. Molly was a friend. Nothing more. Still, no matter what his relationship (or lack thereof) with the pretty pathologist, he wasn't going to leave her at the mercy of Jim Moriarty.

"There's no way in hell we're going to just give her to you!" he spat.

There was something in Moriarty's lifeless eyes that made Lestrade feel sick. Even when he smiled they were cold and threatening, but there was something else in them, something that Greg couldn't put his name on, something that set him on edge.

"You will if you want to save those delegates," he sang. "I just want to talk to her."

"Why? Why Molly Hooper? Sherlock is just in the other room. I can get him for you, right now if you'd like. Or John Watson, maybe?"

If Lestrade thought Moriarty was intimidating when he was smiling, then he looked downright demonic when he glared.

"No. Either you bring me Molly Hooper or they all die."

But still, Lestrade couldn't bring himself to walk out that door. Molly was innocent in all of this. She had no connection to Moriarty, save for her connection to Sherlock.

"Not until you tell me why," Greg continued, glaring down at the psychopath.

For a moment Moriarty didn't speak. Then, a slow deranged smile crept onto his face. "Molly Hooper and I have… history."

xXx

The first time they properly met each other was in Mr Morrison's 12th grade biology class, which just so happened to be Molly Hooper's favourite.

It wasn't that she particularly liked Mr Morrison, she actually found him rather dull, but nothing, not even Morrison's dry lectures, could take away Molly's fascination with life.

While she had quite an aptitude for all sciences, it was biology that she was really passionate about. How the body worked, what made it move, what made it stop, what happened when things went wrong, it utterly enthralled her like no other subject had.

As morbid as some of her classmates believed, Molly loved the dissection classes the best. It was one thing to read about how the lungs worked, or the various parts of the heart, it was another thing entirely to see them. Not in a twisted, psychotic I like playing with dead things way, more out of genuine curiosity. She didn't like dead things they were just interesting. They told stories, if you listened closely enough.

Still, no matter how innocent her intentions, her classmates still stared at her like she had three heads. All of them except for one.

James Moriarty, the new kid from Dublin.

While everyone else was gagging, complaining or squealing, Jim was watching Molly.

Molly, who handled the scalpel like it was an extension of her arm.

Molly, who wasn't squeamish in the slightest at the prospect of cutting into a sheep's heart (or any other body part for that matter).

Molly, who he decided was rather pretty despite the horrendously awful school uniform they were forced to wear.

She finished the dissection in just under half the time they were allocated, in which time Jim had moved his way over to her bench, bringing with him his own tray and sheep's heart.

"You're quite good at that, you know," he said, sitting on the stool opposite her.

Molly, who had been so focused on her work, jumped at his sudden appearance. Nevertheless, like the polite girl she was brought up to be, she smiled at him.

"Thanks," she said, somewhat warily as she stared at his face.

He was attractive to be sure, but not necessarily in the traditional sense.

It was his eyes, Molly realised, there was something about those chocolate brown eyes that just made her heart want to melt.

Of course while she was busy staring at his face, he'd been talking to her. It was only when he met her stare with an amused glint in his eyes that she shook herself out of her trance.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, blood rushing to her cheeks.

Jim laughed at that, but not unkindly.

"I asked if you wouldn't mind helping me, I'm a bit lost you see," he said with a charming grin.

Molly glanced down at the heart and back up to Jim, "You haven't even started yet."

He shrugged, "I wanted to do it with you."

"Why?" she asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

Of course she was suspicious of him. He'd been here two weeks and had yet to utter a single word to her, and now he wanted to dissect hearts together?

"Because, I find you interesting, Molly Hooper."

For a moment she just stared at him, and a tiny part of him was worried she would tell him to piss off.

Then she shrugged and gave him a soft smile.

"Alright then, let's get started."

On that day Molly Hooper entered James Moriarty's world.

xXx

She stood on the other side of two-way mirror with Sherlock, John and Lestrade, staring at the man sitting so calmly at the table on the other side. James Moriarty; the one man on this planet that she never wanted to see again. Never thought she'd see again. And yet here she was.

"You don't have to go in, you know," Lestrade, placing what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder. Molly reluctantly tore her gaze from Moriarty and looked at the Inspector with a sad smile.

"He'll kill them if I don't. He doesn't care, they don't matter to him," she murmured. "And then he'll find more people, and he'll threaten them as well. And if that doesn't work, he'll find the people that matter the most and..." she didn't need to finish her sentence.

"Why does he want you? You're nobody special, certainly not important enough to get onto his radar. Obviously you two know each other from before we started working together, but why do you matter to him? You have nothing he wants, you're a good pathologist, one of the best I'd say, but other than that there is nothing particularly astounding or special about you," Sherlock mused.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock," John said exasperatedly, shooting Molly an apologetic glance. Then he turned his attention back to Molly, "Really though, Greg's right. No one is forcing you to go in there. He's a complete fucking psychopath."

Inside the interrogation room Moriarty yawned and lazily checked the time on his wristwatch. Then he looked directly at the mirror and smiled, "You know, I'd really hurry if I were you. I can't call it off if they're already dead, and time's ticking."

Molly felt as if his eyes were burning a hole into her. He knew she was already there; there was no doubt in his voice, he was merely toying with them. He knew, just as she herself did, that she would rather die before letting harm fall on someone else. There was no choice in this for her.

Of course he would have a backup plan, there was always a backup plan, but he wouldn't need it.

"How does he know you?" Sherlock finally asked in a voice much gentler than she'd ever heard him use.

She sighed, "I knew him at school, we were… friends."

But friends didn't come close to explaining the relationship between Jim Moriarty and Molly Hooper.

xXx

The first time they kissed was two weeks after the dissection lab. For Molly it was wonderful. His kisses weren't particularly soft, or sweet for that matter (except on rare occasions), but they made her feel alive. He kissed her with a fierce intensity, full of want and need that she didn't particularly understand, but loved nonetheless. When he kissed her she felt heavenly, it was as simple as that.

While he'd never actually asked her out, somehow she'd ended up as his girlfriend. Whenever she wasn't in class, she was with Jim, and if she had any classes with Jim he would sit next to her, or partner up with her. Slowly but surely she drifted away from her friends. They didn't like Jim, or the fact that he was dating Molly.

The feeling was mutual.

"They don't understand you Molly, not like I do. They're boring and normal," he said the word like it was poison, "And they want to drag you down to their level. They don't want you to be happy. They don't want us to be happy."

He'd kissed her and all her doubts had flown out the window. Jim was right, Jim was always right.

Then again, at the time Molly was so in love with him she would have done almost anything without question.

It was strange though, how despite losing all of her friends, people were nicer to her. No one ever tried to strike up a friendship or anything so dramatic, but they stopped laughing behind her back in science class. They stopped mocking her in P.E class or choosing her last for group work. She'd thought that they were being nice; she had no idea that they were terrified.

Molly gave him all of herself, even her virginity. He'd been rough, frenzied even, and it had hurt like hell but he'd cuddled her afterwards so Molly figured it wasn't too bad. It was that night, naked and tucked protectively against him that she'd told him she loved him.

He'd smirked at that and caught her lips in a deep kiss. When they finally broke for air he cupped her cheek in his hand and whispered those fateful words, "I love you, Molly."

Molly blushed as a thousand watt smile lit her face, and let him take her again and again and again.

xXx

"Molly if you're going to do this, you need to go in now. We're running out of time," Lestrade said using the same tone he used when talking to grieving families. Like she was a fragile thing, broken and scared.

One glance at John and Sherlock told her that they were thinking the same thing.

She was scared to be sure, but Molly Hooper refused to be broken.

"Okay, I'm ready," she said with a determined nod of her head.

Greg nodded back, "Well, he's in handcuffs so he won't be able to hurt you or anything, and I'll be with you the whole time from back here… And if you feel unsafe in any way, say the word and we'll pull you right out."

Molly smiled stiffly at him, "I know. Thank you, really."

Then she glanced one last time at Sherlock before following Lestrade out into the interrogation room.

The split second the door swept open Moriarty's eyes snapped up and smiled.

"I knew you would come back to me. You always were such a selfless person, Molly. But I suppose we all have our flaws." He sighed melodramatically, but even he couldn't entirely wipe the grin off his face at the sight of her.

Molly took the seat directly opposite him with Lestrade sitting next to her.

Moriarty stared at the detective disdainfully.

"Leave," he said.

Beside her she felt Greg stiffen slightly. "That wasn't part of the deal. You asked for Miss Hooper and here she is. Now start talking."

"If you want those people to die then by all means stay where you are, otherwise leave," he said, smiling dangerously at the detective.

Lestrade glared at Moriarty and made no move to stand. Suppressing a sigh Molly placed her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze, brining his attention back to her.

"It's fine Greg, really. He won't hurt me."

He still seemed torn, but with a reluctant sigh he stood up.

"I'll be watching," he said, though whether it was directed at Moriarty or her she wasn't entirely sure.

Then he left, slamming the door loudly behind him.

"Long time no see, you're looking good Molls," he said.

"Not long enough," she replied, her voice barely above a murmur. Yet Moriarty heard her all the same.

"Did you think you could run forever? That I wouldn't find you? Or did you think that I would just give up?" He leaned forward over the table as much as his cuffs would allow. His face was only inches from hers but Molly refused to back away. "You're mine," He growled. "Always have been, always will be. I let you get away from me once, my dear. I won't make that mistake twice."

She believed him. Jim was always right. Without even consciously realising it, she nodded back.

"There's my girl," he said fondly, sitting back in his seat. "So tell me, darling, does the great and powerful Sherlock Holmes know that you're in love with him?"

Molly froze in her seat like a deer in headlights.

How could he possibly know that? Not that she'd tried to keep it a secret, the opposite in fact. She'd gone out of her way to try and charm the stoic and unfeeling detective, for all the good that it had done.

Had he been watching her? Knowing him, it was certainly a possibility.

How long had she been under his surveillance for, without ever knowing it?

Weeks? Months? Years even? Had she ever even escaped in the first place?

"I'm not, I'm not in-"

Jim tutted her, "Don't lie to me, Molly. Answer the question."

Molly couldn't help but glance over her shoulder. She knew it was ridiculous, but she could almost feel his gaze burning into her from behind the glass mirror. Because there was no way he wasn't watching this, he was too curious not too. He'd never even looked twice at her before, and now she was suddenly interesting and exciting and you couldn't tear him away.

The realisation came like a slap in the face, a rather painful one at that. Molly bit down on her lip and tore her gaze away from the window, choosing instead to glare at the metal table.

"Ahh, he's watching this isn't he. I wondered if he would." He turned his attention back to Molly, "Are you trying to make me jealous, darling? You out of all people know that I won't tolerate sharing you, not with Sherlock Holmes, not with anybody."

Molly gulped. His voice was soft and he was smiling at her with so much love and adoration that she could almost pretend that he wasn't threatening the people she loved. But his eyes, those dark, beautiful eyes, they were on fire, burning with unsuppressed rage. It was a look she remembered far too well, and to be perfectly honest it terrified her.

"M-maybe we should talk about the attack on the Spanish delegation?" Molly said with a forced smile. Beneath the table her right leg was jumping up and down nervously, a terrible habit she'd picked up in high school that she'd never been able to kick.

He smirked at her but there was something dark and deadly playing behind those chocolate brown eyes of his. "I'm surprised at you, Molly. You out of all people know I don't deal with jealousy well at all… I would have thought you'd learned that lesson a long time ago. But I suppose I can always give another demonstration, just for you, my dear."

Molly felt the blood drain from her face. She licked her lips before speaking, "Please Jim, please don't." It was barely a whisper, but it might as well have been shouted across the room.

He loved it when she begged, so she continued.

"Please don't hurt him, he doesn't even see me, not really. Please, Jim, I'm begging you. I'm nothing to him." It hurt to say it, even if it was the truth. But if the truth saved anyone else from paying for her mistakes than she would gladly take any pain.

Across from the table from her Jim sighed and shook his head, "If only that were true, but Sherlock Holmes does care about you, in his own way." His eyes narrowed into a vicious sneer. "I'll burn his fucking heart out because of it. You're mine, Molly Hooper, it's time you accepted that."

xXx

James Moriarty was a fucking tosser and Molly was utterly done with his bullshit. Generally she was a fairly easy going girlfriend. She didn't demand that he showered her with gifts (though he did anyway) or demand that he spend all of his free time with her and no one else. She acknowledged that he had his own things to do and as long as he told her beforehand she didn't mind that he went out without her.

But tonight was supposed to be special. It was the year 12 formal, the night where everyone was supposed to get dressed up fancy and celebrate the fact that in a few weeks they would all be leaving school. It sounded a little bit silly, but it was a big deal for her. For months she had begged Jim to take her, pleaded with him and when that didn't work, bribed him. He'd agreed and Molly was practically over the moon with joy.

She'd gone out of her way to look extra beautiful tonight. She'd purchased a stunning midnight blue floor length gown with a pair of silver heels to match, had her nails painted, hell, she'd even paid to have her hair and makeup done by some fancy salon in London.

She looked like an absolute dream.

And then, twenty minutes before Jim was supposed to come and pick her up he'd called to tell her he wasn't coming because he was busy.

That was it. No explanation, no apology, no nothing.

Molly was furious, but for once in her life she looked beautiful and she would be damned if she let that go to waste just because her boyfriend was a major pain in the ass.

So she'd gone to the dance alone and kept her head held high the entire time. She danced with her classmates and drank the spiked punch and laughed with her old friends. She was actually having a good time and slowly but surely and thoughts of Jim slipped to the back of her mind. It was almost as if he had never existed, no one mentioned his absence, and her friends seemed more than happy that she'd finally come to her senses and dropped his ass (she hadn't bothered correcting them on this front. They were having a fight, not breaking up).

Even in her wildest dreams she couldn't have imagined how this night could be a disaster. But it was, and it came in the form of Adam Dwyer. Adam was a nice guy, he was tall, lean, fit and blonde, with blue eyes that made Molly want to melt. They'd been going to the same school since they were in 3rd grade, and Molly had always had a bit of a crush on him.

Who wouldn't? The guy was practically perfect!

She was a third of the way through her fourth drink when he slid up beside her.

"You're looking good Hooper. Wanna dance?" His blue eyes sparkled with goodhearted mischief and Molly couldn't find it in herself to refuse.

She loved Jim with all her heart and she would never, ever even contemplate cheating on him, what harm could one innocent dance do?

Besides, she reasoned as he led her by the hand to the dance floor, if Jim had come with her she would have danced with him all night and this wouldn't have been a problem.

Still, despite all her well founded reasoning and logic, she did feel the smallest sting of guilt when Adam pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her to dance. She did her very best to ignore it.

It was just a dance for Christ's sake! She was perfectly within her rights to dance with one of her old friends, even if it was a slow dance…

"Where's your boy toy tonight?" he asked softly over the slow lull of the music.

Molly blushed, very, very aware of how closely he was holding her. "Um, he couldn't make it tonight," she stammered as they swayed across the dance floor.

Adam snorted, trying to pass it off as a cough when Molly frowned at him. "His loss, I suppose," he said with more than a hint of disdain in his tone.

Was it just her imagination or did his hands dip lower on her back? The niggling seed of doubt began to grow in her stomach. This felt too… coupley for her. Then again, maybe she was just reading too much into it.

A few years ago she would have killed to be spending the night in Adam Dwyer's arms, but now it just felt kind of wrong. He wasn't Jim, and he was who she really wanted to dance with tonight.

"He was going to come, but he had some family stuff going on," Molly said, though her excuse sounded weak even to her own ears. But she couldn't help but defend him. It was one thing for her to be pissed at her boyfriend, it was another thing entirely for everyone to think he had stood her up… even though he technically had.

"Well, if you ask me he's mad as a dog for letting you come here alone tonight dressed like this. You're a catch, any guy would be lucky to have you," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

"You're damn right I am," a soft voice interrupted. Molly sprang apart from Adam to find her boyfriend (dressed impeccably in a suit and tie) staring at her with an unreadable expression. Despite this Molly grinned and threw her arms around him, breathing a silent sigh of relief when she felt him reciprocate.

"You came!" she breathed, hugging him tighter.

"Of course I did. I just had to deal with a few things first." His voice was off… he sounded cold, threatening even. With a frown on her face Molly pulled away to find Jim glaring at Adam, his dark brown eyes like icy daggers. Then realisation dawned on her, Jim wasn't talking to her, well technically he was, but it wasn't for her benefit that he was speaking. Not only that, but Adam was glaring back at him with just as much loathing.

Then, abruptly, Jim broke their little staring contest and looked at Molly, "Come on, I want to dance."

He didn't give her a chance to protest before he was dragging her back into the throng of people on the dance floor. Once they were more or less lost in the crowd he wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her much closer than Adam had ever dared, and began to dance.

Unlike with Adam, Jim's hands wandered as they danced. Touching, teasing, groping, it wasn't unwelcome by any means but Molly still found herself blushing scarlet. Eventually one of the teachers, Mrs. Evans, told them as politely as she could manage that if they did not stop such vulgar displays then they would have to leave.

Jim had sneered at her and without a word grabbed Molly by the arm and pulled her outside.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he led her to his car.

"Back to mine." Again, there was no room for discussion, but Molly didn't really mind. Actually, to be perfectly honest she felt a little guilty and would have done anything he wanted if it meant assuaging that guilt. So she smiled and nodded, hoping to god that he wasn't too mad at her.

The second they were inside his bedroom he attacked her with kisses. Clothes flew haphazardly off the pair, and in the process Jim managed to rip her dress, but she couldn't find it in her to care. He was desperate, ravenous. He didn't say a word as they fell into bed, as his mouth was far too busy making a trail of love bites over her skin.

Jim was never what you would call a tender lover, but he was especially rough tonight. Not enough to hurt her, he'd never do that, but he was far from gentle.

To be perfectly honest, Molly didn't mind one little bit. She actually rather liked it.

Afterwards he held her close, kissing her neck and murmuring a possessive 'mine' into her ear.

Things returned to normal after that. Neither Molly nor Jim brought up the dance, and while he was a little more affectionate and possessive than usual, he seemed content.

It was almost a week later when she received the news.

Adam Dwyer had been found at the bottom of the cliffs on the beach. Dead. The police investigation had ruled his death accidental, the result of excessive drinking too near to the edge of the rocky outcrop.

Molly might have believed them if it wasn't for one simple fact. Adam didn't drink. His father had been a horrendously abusive drunk and he'd made no secret of his desire to stay as far away from alcohol as he could.

Still, the facts didn't lie. His post mortem had showed that his blood alcohol content was through the roof. They'd said that he'd had so much that if the fall hadn't killed him, then the alcohol poisoning surely would have.

But it didn't make sense. Why had he been out there anyway, all by himself in the middle of the night?

Then again, maybe the pressure had finally gotten to him. They had their final exams coming up, the exams that would determine whether or not they would be able to get into university the following year. Hell even Molly was feeling it, and she knew better than most that sometimes people did crazy things under pressure, was it really so unthinkable that he turned to drinking that night?

Still, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with. She didn't go to Jim's place like she normally would have on a Friday afternoon, and after a few hours of waiting around for her to turn up, Jim had come looking for her. He found her in her P.J's, sitting on her bed, crying. It wasn't because she loved him or any nonsense like that, but they'd been somewhat friends and the thought of him not being alive hurt.

Jim hadn't seen it that way. He'd come in through her window, taken one look at her and frowned.

"I don't understand," he said as he climbed into the bed next to her, worming his arms around her waist.

Molly shifted over to allow him more room, quickly wiping the tears away from her cheeks. "Understand what?" she sniffled.

"Why you're still crying over him. He deserved it," he replied darkly.

Molly stiffened in his arms. It wasn't his cruelty that made her pause, no she was well aware of his disdain for, well, for anyone but her it seemed, but rather there was a hint of something in his tone that sent a chill down her back.

She rolled over so she was facing him and stared into those soft brown eyes. He was so beautiful, really, how many times had she found herself wondering at how someone like him had ended up with someone like her, plain, boring, average in every way.

"He 'deserved' it? It was an accident, Jim, he fell. That's a horrible thing to say!"

To her surprise Jim smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then he brought his lips to her ear, "Did he?"

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Of course he did, he, they said that he'd drunk too much, he, he tripped, that's all," she stuttered, trying desperately to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach.

There was a twinkle in his eyes like he'd made some kind of joke that she'd missed.

"Well, I wouldn't call it tripping so much as being pushed, but he ended up in the same place, so I hardly think it matters."

And then he kissed her.

xXx

"How long have you known where I was?" she asked. It seemed stupid, in a sense, to worry about such trivial things when the lives of six people hung in the balance. And yet, Molly had to know.

Jim leant back in his seat with a smirk. He enjoyed the power he had over her, the ability to make her squirm.

"Why? Do you want to know if it was all in vain?" he paused for a moment and chuckled lightly. Then he shook his head, "After you lied to me, your parents and everyone else about which university you were going to, smart move by the way, I thought I'd lost you for good. I didn't have my empire back then. I didn't have the connections to find you. But I never stopped hunting for you, my dear. Not for a single moment." His eyes were ablaze with a mixture of delight and anger.

Molly nodded absentmindedly. She'd honestly believed that he'd given up when she'd left home for university. No one knew where she was, only that she was studying medicine at university.

He'd said he'd loved her. He told her that she was his, and his alone and that he would never let her go. He swore that he would kill anyone who came between them, and she believed him. She was also the only person on the planet who knew that he'd murdered Adam Dwyer.

But she'd stayed with him, simply because she was scared. Scared of what he would do to the people she loved if she left him.

Or if she told.

It would be easy for anyone to criticise this, say that she had been weak, or that she was just as bad as he was for allowing him back into her bed every night. But they weren't there. They didn't, couldn't, understand the depth of the hold Jim had over her. So yes, she stayed with him, acted as if all was normal even when her very flesh crawled under his touch.

"But in answer to your question I've known you were at Bart's the very first time you walked through those hospital doors. Then it was just a matter of biding my time."

Molly frowned; she had been working at Bart's for almost three years now. She'd been working with Sherlock for the last two.

"You brought Sherlock to me, didn't you?"

The corners of his lips twitched into a smile.

"Of course I did. What did you think it was an accident that your boss couldn't make it in the day that Lestrade finally brought Sherlock along on a case?" Jim shook his head. "No, Sherlock Holmes needed to work with the best, and you my dear, were exactly that. Of course I wasn't expecting you to fall for him, but we'll deal with that in time, don't you worry."

There was an impatient tapping on the glass behind her and Molly jumped at the sound. While Jim glared darkly at the mirror Molly steeled herself yet again. It was stupid to let Moriarty drag her off course, especially when she needed to stay focused. Six lives hung in the balance, now wasn't the time to go over old wounds.

"What do you want, Jim? To gloat? You've done that. Tell me what I need to do to save those people or I will leave and never come back," she said, doing her very best to stare him down.

Judging from the cocky smirk that was now plastered across his face, he didn't believe a word of it.

"Nah. It's not your style Molls. But I suppose you're right, time is ticking," he sighed, glancing once more at the Rolex watch on his wrist.

Molly suppressed an aggravated sigh. It was bad enough being in the room with him, but being forced to play into his games? That was down right horrible.

"What. Do. You. Want?"

Jim shrugged, "Many, many things. But as for right now I'd settle for a kiss."

"A kiss?!" Molly hissed.

"One kiss and I'll tell you everything you want to know. Simple as that."

Sitting there, dressed impeccably in his Westwood suit, Jim Moriarty could almost have passed as angelic.

Molly knew better.

"That's all? One kiss and you'll tell me how to stop the attack?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

Jim smiled back at her, "I expect tongue, but yes."

She cast a nervous glance at the mirror behind her, wondering what, if anything, her friends were thinking behind it.

It wasn't like she could refuse, six lives for a kiss; it was hardly even a fair trade. But that didn't make the sick feeling in her stomach go away.

"This isn't a game Jim," she said.

"Of course it is, and you're playing whether you like it or not. I've offered you two choices. You can either kiss me or let those poor innocent people die. It's entirely up to you."

Again, she glanced back at the mirror.

"Don't worry about them, it's just you and me, love. Like old times."

Would they think she was a slut for this? Maybe she was, but it wasn't like there was anything she could do now.

"Swear on it," she demanded, trying to stare him down.

A flicker of amusement showed on his face, but he humoured her.

"I swear it on my mother's grave," he said, lifting his right hand as high as the cuffs would allow.

Molly nodded. Nervously she wiped her hands on her pants and then stood. Jim's dark eyes followed her as she walked around to his side of the table.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs and her hands were trembling, but it was now or never.

Trembling, she knelt down on the floor beside him and with a deep breath to steel her nerves Molly kissed him.

Ferociously, he returned it. True to his word his tongue found its way into her mouth, and judging from the low growl in his throat, Jim was enjoying it too.

His kiss was demanding, perverse, and molly couldn't help the blush that turned his cheeks a deep pink.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, he broke the kiss, biting down on her bottom lip as he pulled away.

"Atta girl," he murmured with a grin.

Molly wanted to disappear entirely, but since that wasn't an option she simply nodded her head, stood up and walked back to her seat trying to keep a hold of whatever dignity she still had.

"N-now it's your turn," Molly said, praying to god that he wouldn't go back on their deal.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, biting his lip. Then he gave her a sheepish shrug. "Unfortunately, it's too late."

Molly's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean it's too late?" she hissed.

"They died three hours ago. Well, not technically, but you catch my drift."

Molly was about to snap at him, but before she could even open her mouth the door to the interrogation room was thrown open and Lestrade stormed inside. Like an angry bull he crossed the floor and without a word seized Moriarty by the throat.

"What have you done you sadistic fucking twat?" he growled through clenched teeth.

Even under the increasing pressure from Lestrade's hands on his throat, Jim was still laughing.

"Poison," he wheezed, grinning manically up at the detective.

Lestrade tightened his grasp, and Molly watched in horror as Jim's face turned red as it was deprived of oxygen.

"Greg! Let him go," Molly cried, just as Donovan and three other officers burst in the room to quite literally rip Greg away from Moriarty. Someone was shouting orders down a phone and Donovan was wrestling Lestrade from the room and all she could do was sit and stare.

It was all a fucking game to him.

She'd played right into his hand, and for what?

For a simple kiss?

It didn't make sense. He was smarter than every person in Scotland Yard (except for, perhaps, Sherlock Holmes) and yet he'd gotten himself caught.

He'd brought her back into the open under the guise of saving lives. They were poisoned long before she even arrived.

And now he was going to prison. Not some regular high security prison, no. Molly had very little doubt that Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother, would ensure that he was trapped so far underground that everyone would forget he'd ever existed in the first place.

Why? Why now, why this? She wasn't self centred enough to believe that it was all about her, she was simply another pawn to him, always had been. No, Moriarty had not done this for a kiss, he couldn't have. There must have been a plan, or another game at hand.

She lifted her gaze to find him staring at her, his face entirely blank and void of all emotion.

"Bye, love."

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to find John Watson staring down at her with kind eyes.

"Come on, Molly, let's get you out of here."

Mindlessly she stood up, letting John guide her out of the room. When she glanced back she found Jim still staring at her amidst all the chaos. Then, she was tugged out of view.

"-Going down for good this time."

"-Irrefutable evidence."

"Molly."

"-Can't believe it."

"Molly."

"-Twisted fucking psychopath."

"And what was his deal with Hooper?"

"Molly, for god's sake woman!"

Molly snapped out of her daze and to find Sherlock staring at her in exasperation.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" she asked, plastering a smile on her face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but there was a rare softness in the gesture. "You need to go home. Now," he instructed, his tone leaving very little room for argument.

Molly gaped at him, "What on Earth do you mean? It's only half ten, Sherlock. Do you realise how much work I have to do today?"

"Nothing important, I've checked," he retorted.

"Maybe not to you but-"

Lestrade cut her off mid sentence, "Molly, please. Go home, you need the rest. And before you try and weasel your way out of it I'm sending a police escort to make sure you make it home."

Molly opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a pleading look.

With a resigned sigh she acquiesced.

"Fine, but I'm not happy about it!"

True to his word, Lestrade did send a police car to follow her home, but she blatantly refused to have him hang around afterwards.

Finally alone (except, of course, for Toby), Molly settled down and tried to make the best of her day off. It was hard to relax and no matter how hard she tried she could not stop thinking about him. It didn't help that John and Lestrade called every few hours or so to make sure she was okay. It was touching, really, but at the same time she didn't want to think about it anymore. James Moriarty had occupied enough of her lifetime. He was gone; he would never see the light of day again. Molly just wanted to put him and all thoughts surrounding him to bed forever.

Needless to say the day dragged on until finally she decided it was late enough to go to sleep.

Not that that was any easier.

By the time her alarm finally went off in the morning Molly doubted whether she'd had any sleep at all. Not that it mattered, after having most of the day off yesterday there was no way in hell she could call in sick. Knowing Mike the work would have just piled up in her absence. No, she would just have to suck it up and get to work.

But first, she needed a shower. She quickly foraged through her closet and pulled out a plain white blouse and a black skirt paired with a cute cherry printed cardigan. Nice, simple and appropriate. She smiled softly.

After grabbing a pair of knickers and a clean bra Molly grabbed her phone off the counter with the intention of checking the time, but as she unlocked the screen it began to vibrate and Sherlock's face popped up.

Normally Molly would answer it immediately, at any time day or night, but today she let it ring out. It wasn't like she was ignoring him, if it was something really important he would meet her at work.

Besides, knowing him he just wanted to press her about yesterday's events. Sherlock Holmes hated not knowing things. Nodding to herself she chucked her phone onto her bed and without another thought went into the bathroom to shower.

He phone, lying forgotten on her pillow lit up again… and again… and again. First calls, then text messages, one from John, three from Lestrade and seven from Sherlock.

In the shower Molly was busy rinsing the conditioner from her hair, humming a soft pretty tune that her mother used to sing. She didn't hear her front door being unlocked, nor did she hear the soft footsteps creeping into her apartment.

She did, however, hear the sound of an impatient Toby meowing for breakfast. Sighing she savoured her last few seconds of glorious hot water before turning the shower knob off. Yanking her towel off the rack she quickly rubbed herself dry before wrapping it around her wet hair and stepping delicately from the shower.

She ran a brush through the tangled mess that was her hair and gave it a quick blow dry. Then, dropping her towel she slipped on some underwear and a matching bra, plain white with a black lace trim. It was probably the sexiest pair she owned, and she usually only wore it when she went out on the odd date. But maybe it was the stress from yesterday or the way that Sherlock, John and Lestrade had all been so astounded that she had had a romantic life before them but she felt the need to be sexy. Even if no one saw it. Besides, it looked fantastic on her.

After hanging her towel on the rack to dry and chucking her pyjamas in the washing basket Molly opened the bathroom door. She took two steps into her bedroom before stopping cold in her tracks. Leaning ever so casually against her wardrobe was Moriarty, and he was smiling at her.

"Hello, love, did you miss me?" he asked, eyeing her lingerie clad body appreciatively.

Molly was frozen in her spot, staring at him in horror, "No… you were- the - how…"

He smirked devilishly, "What, did you think that little box could keep me locked up for long? Sherlock Holmes took something of mine, and nothing, not even god himself, can stop me from taking it back."

Molly's heart skipped a beat.

"Leave now, or I swear to god I'll call the police!" she spat, trying her best to put on a brave front.

Moriarty, of course, saw right through it and chuckled fondly, "My darling, don't be stupid. First of all, if I can escape a top security prison buried underneath London, what on earth makes you think I would be afraid of the police, and secondly," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white phone. Her phone. "It might be a little difficult to call the police with no phone."

Molly felt her blood run cold as his smile turned into a sneer. He unlocked her phone (never mind how he knew her passcode) and began to scroll through, his expression turning colder with every message that he read.

"Unfortunately my dear, it seems your little band of detectives already know about my, uh, escape," he said without glancing up from the phone. "Which means that things are going to have a little faster than anticipated." His dark eyes flashed up to look at her. Molly didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on her breasts, and despite the fact that it both scared and revolted her she refused to cover up. "And as much as I'd love to have our little reunion here and now, it seems we'll have to wait just a little longer. You don't mind, do you darling?"

He was playing with her like a cat toys with a mouse before it goes in for the kill. In that split second Molly gathered up what was left of her courage and strength and, not caring in the slightest that she was only in her underpants, spun around and bolted towards the front door

It was only a few metres to the front door; she could easily make it. She was too focused on her goal to worry about whether or not he was following her, and in her haste she missed the shadows moving in the corner of her vision.

She was only a single step away from freedom when she felt a pair of strong muscled arms wrench her away.

"NO! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!" She yelled, thrashing violently against his (whoever he was) hold.

She felt his chest rumble as he chuckled.

"Molly, darling," Jim's voice floated down the hallway as he approached her. "I'd like you to meet Sebastian Moran, the gentleman who has so kindly agreed to help me in your abduction this morning."

She couldn't even see him and she knew he was grinning like a maniac.

His shoes clicked on her wooden floor as he walked around Sebastian and came face to face with her.

"I hate you so fucking much!" she hissed at him, even as the tears welled up in her eyes.

He pouted at her, and reached out to tenderly stroke her cheek. She flinched away from his touch. "You can't hate me forever," he crooned. His dark eyes flashed to meet her captor's gaze.

"Seb, if you wouldn't mind,"

"What? No-" Molly's sentence died on her lips as she felt a sharp pinch on her neck and then… nothing.

xXx

Five minutes later two cop cars came to a screeching halt in front of Molly's apartment building. Lestrade, Donovan, Sherlock and John barrelled out of the vehicles and ran into the complex, pushing the poor delivery man out of the way in their haste. Up two flights of stairs they sprinted before they reached her apartment. Gun in one hand Lestrade gripped the doorknob and threw the door open, allowing Donovan, Sherlock and John to race inside.

The apartment was tidy and empty. Sherlock stood in the hallway as the other three fanned out, searching each of the rooms. It was pointless, he'd known the second they'd walked in that Molly wasn't here.

They were too late.

Moriarty had taken her.

Sherlock was not used to failure, nor the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Molly, his Molly, in that monster's hands.

"Sherlock, she's not here!" John sighed, emerging from Molly's bedroom, shoving his gun back into the back of his pants.

Something was not right, something was out of place.

"How the fuck did this happen?! How did he get here before we did?!" Greg growled, kicking the wall with frustration.

It was staring him in the face; he could practically feel it taunting him.

"It was a set up, it had to be! I knew it was too easy the first time," Donovan muttered.

He'd noticed the sweater lying haphazardly on the couch, the black phone on the table, the syringe tip on the floor. Moriarty had surprised her, and he hadn't been alone either. But there was something else, something obvious and he was missing it.

"Well we've got to get her back, right Sherlock? We're gonna get her back. Sherlock?" John prodded.

"Stop talking, everyone stop talking. I'm thinking!" He snapped, his icy blue eyes darting around the room.

The sweater, the phone, the syringe tip… Something was out of place… Something was wrong…

It hit him like an anvil.

"The phone," he breathed, walking across the room to snatch it up.

John looked at him oddly, "What about it?"

"Molly's phone is white."

Flipping the phone open he went to the contacts. Unsurprisingly there was only one. He pressed the call button and brought the phone to his ear.

It rung once, twice-

"Sherlock! I thought you'd never call," the cool mocking voice answered.

"Give her back to me, she has nothing to do with this!" he hissed.

Moriarty laughed, "For someone who's supposed to be clever, you're being awfully dull right now. Do you really think that I took Molly as part of our little game? Don't be so obtuse!"

Sherlock's fingers tightened on the phone, "You said yourself that you were the one who brought Molly in! You made her a part of this!"

"You're right, I did bring her in, but you just had to go and make her fall in love with you!" he snapped. "And she wasn't the only one to fall, was she? Molly is mine, Sherlock! I won't lose her again, not to you, not to anyone!"

Sherlock began to pace, "It doesn't matter, you know I'll find her. I'll find her and I swear that if you've harmed a single hair on her head I will destroy you."

He expected Moriarty to laugh, to mock him, but he was wrong on both counts.

"I won't hurt her. Not ever." He paused for a moment, "This is goodbye, Sherlock. Not from me, of course, we still have our little game to play, but from Molly. You loose."

Before Sherlock even had a chance to reply Moriarty had hung up.

xXx

Somewhere in downtown London a sleek black sedan pulled over to the curb. The tinted window rolled down as a mobile phone was tossed from the car. The window wound back up and the driver pulled back into the street.

Inside the car James Moriarty smiled. Lying down on the seat beside him with her head in his lap, Molly Hooper slept soundly, blissfully unaware that a war had just been won, and not for the side of the angels.

She would sleep for several more hours yet, and when she woke he would celebrate that victory with her again and again and again. He had won back his Queen, his love, and this time he intended on keeping her.


End file.
